


Wallowing in Whisky

by YellowPencils



Category: DCI Banks (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-17 14:24:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8147342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YellowPencils/pseuds/YellowPencils
Summary: Alan tries to forget the evening's events.Set post-S4E6.





	

Alan thought that he should probably be burning with embarrassment after what had done barely an hour ago, but he felt strangely numb. Of course, the fact that he was on his third large whisky might have something to do with it.

He could feel the beginnings of a migraine and knew that the best thing he could do for his physical - and mental - health was to put his glass down, drink a couple of large glasses of water and go to bed. But however much he would welcome unconsciousness right now, he knew his dreams would be full of everything he was, in fact, drinking to forget. Instead, he pressed the thumb and index finger of his free hand onto his closed eyelids firmly, hoping it would help to fight off some of the pain in his head, but if anything it just made it worse.

He knew he wasn't the most tactful of men, and didn't exactly have the best timing in the world, but he had, without question, completely and utterly excelled himself tonight.

"You idiot!" Alan threw his head against the back of the sofa and made a noise somewhere between a moan and a growl, his eyes screwed closed tightly. "You stupid, stupid, _idiot!"_

Alan finished his drink, barely registering the burn of the strong whisky as it went down his throat. Without even time to take a breath, he reached for the bottle so he could pour himself another glass. As he tipped the bottle, the glass slipped in his hand and fell to the floor, thankfully without breaking, then rolled away.

"Argh!" Alan grumbled loudly, then took two large mouthfuls of the dark liquid straight from the bottle.

Slamming the bottle down onto the coffee table in front of him and not bothering to replace the lid, Alan pushed himself up heavily and slowly made his way upstairs to his bedroom. Although it was not unheard of for him to drink even more than he had this evening, he found himself having to pause twice on his way up the stairs, grabbing the hand rail with one hand and the wall with the other to steady himself.

Making a half-hearted effort to get undressed, Alan ended up collapsing on top of his bed, his shirt half-unbuttoned and his shoes still on. He didn't fall asleep so much as pass out, arms and legs spread out across his king-sized bed, snoring loudly.

 

*****

 

Several hours later, Alan began to wake up. Determined to fight against the bright sunlight streaming through his windows - clearly he hadn't bothered to close the curtains when he had staggered his way to bed - and held his eyes so tightly closed that it aggravated his ever-present headache.

Just as he was finally starting to drift back to sleep, he could have sworn he heard a noise from downstairs. Frowning, Alan listened for another sound, not quite concerned enough to leave the relatively safe cocoon of his bed.

After his humiliation the previous night, he thought, maybe an axe-wielding intruder was just what he needed to put him out of his misery.

Two minutes passed without even a creak of a floorboard, so Alan reluctantly decided that he must have been mistaken.

"I spend half my life with murderers," he murmered to himself, "Yet there aren't any around when you bloody well need them."

He almost jumped out of his skin as he heard two thuds from right next to him and light footsteps before he felt a figure throwing themselves down on the other side of the bed heavily. He held his breath and waited for the murderer to work his magic.

"Bad luck, old man," said a voice that did not belong in his bedroom, especially not today, "I'm not here to kill you. However much you _do_ deserve it."

Alan groaned, desperately hoping he had fallen back into unconsciousness and was currently dreaming.

"You can ignore me all you want, but I know you're faking being asleep."

A foot kicked his leg, not quite as gently as he would have liked.

"Come on, Alan. Stop ignoring me. We need to talk."

"I'm not in the mood," he grumbled confused, "Please, just leave me alone. I'll see you at work later."

"No you won't. I rang in. Told them we were both working from home today. They'll call if they need us."

Alan opened first one eye and then the other, one slow, painful millimetre at a time. Finally, he sighed and managed to push himself up into a half-sitting, half-slumped position. As he yawned, he noticed a bottle of water and a packet of aspirin on his bedside table.

"I thought you might need them."

"Am I that predictable?" he sighed, as he reached for the water.

He took a few large mouthfuls of the refreshing liquid and swallowed two of the aspirin tablets before he managed to pluck up enough courage to turn to face the woman next to him.

"Yes," she smiled fondly as she answered his question, which only made his confusion worse.

"Why are you here? Shouldn't you be with your _fiance?"_ he couldn't prevent the bitter tone to his voice.

Annie held her left hand up, raising an eyebrow when he just stared blankly at the back of it, not understanding what point she was trying to make.

"You know, for a detective, you can be _incredibly_ stupid sometimes," she said, rolling her eyes.

Finally, he realised.

"Where's...?" he managed, not quite able to finish the question.

Alan found himself holding his breath, desperate for her to answer at the same time as being terrified that it would not be what he wanted to hear.

"My engagement ring?" she asked, "Well, it's not mine anymore, if that's what you're wondering."

"How...why?" he asked quietly, not sure if it was the hangover, but he really wasn't following exactly what was going on.

Annie smiled at him in a way that he thought was unnecessarily patronising.

"Because I'm not engaged anymore."

Alan shook his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts, but found that it didn't work. He was still utterlly confused. Annie took pity on him.

"It's a long story," she explained, "One that is probably better left until you've got rid of your hangover."

Alan continued to look confused as she took his arm and encouraged him to lie back down, plumping his pillow for him before he settled down.

To his surprise, Annie not only kept hold of his arm, but actually moved closer to him. Laying on her side, she placed her other arm over his body, her palm settling on his chest gently. As he started to drift back into sleep, he smiled as his own hand landed on top of hers, without him even realising he had moved it.

Suddenly, last night didn't seem like such a mistake, after all.


End file.
